Diamond in the Rough
by that punk kid
Summary: He seemed only a child, but he was so much more. Albert didn't know what power lay in his hands, but he feared it - and fear and love are intertwined.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The small, blue-blanketed bundle squirmed in the arms of the scientist holding it while it was being examined critically. The baby was a boy, blond with blue eyes that would almost certainly change to a darker color; he was a thin baby, but healthy, perfectly so, who regarded everyone around him with a curious and skeptical eye. He didn't cry and the scientist expected he probably wouldn't for a while.

Spencer walked over and observed the child with a smile. "Wonderful," he said softly. "He's perfect. We'll call this one Albert."

The scientist stared into the analytical baby-blue eyes of Number 013 and sighed, placing the baby in the car to be taken away.

_Seven Years Later_

Albert sat at the table, staring down at the pristine white tablecloth, unmarred by food particles or stains. His mother sat next to him at the table, small hand clutching his even smaller one as his father ranted on the telephone with someone from his job.

He looked up, green eyes meeting the soft brown of hers, a questioning glance.

She ran a hand through the fine blond hair on top of his head, then sighed, examining her free hand. He noted that they where lily-white and fine, with long, elegant fingers, much like his.

It was perhaps the only physical resemblance he bore to either of his parents. His father had dark, hungry black eyes and black hair in a military cut, his mother with soft auburn curls cut short and pinned close to her head.

His father cleared his throat, shooting Edith a pointed glare. "Albert, go upstairs and finish your homework, then go to bed."

"Yes, sir," the boy said softly, standing and starting up the stairs. He only pretended to go to his room, instead choosing to sit at the top of the stairs so he could catch the conversation he knew they were about to have.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," he heard Edith whisper. Feeling a stab of pity for his mother for what he knew was coming, he listened and for and was rewarded with the expected slap from Frank.

"And you'd have him grow up soft and weak!" the cold man hissed. "Edith, he's not like the other children! We have to treat him like he's different!"

"He's just a boy!" Edith shouted, making Albert jump. He'd never heard her raise her voice. "He's a child, Frank!"

Albert scrambled to his room as he heard his father coming up the stairs, splaying books across his bed and pretending to work diligently.

His father opened the door. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice chilling.

Albert glanced up, and then back down. "Homework," he said softly.

"Liar!" Frank shouted, making the small boy jump again. He cried out as his father grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to the stairs. "Stand in the corner, boy!" he roared.

The phone rang downstairs as Albert stood with his nose to the corner. He knew he'd be standing here until his father told him to move, and if he was found crying or sitting down, it would be another hour before he was allowed to go to bed.

Frank stormed downstairs to answer the phone. After a moment, the front door opened. "Edith, I'm needed at work. He's not to move until I come back."

Feeling hot tears spill down his face in spite of the threat of punishment, Albert obediently stayed in the corner. He stood for hours upon hours until, finally, his vision went black.

He woke with his father standing over him, features twisted in fury.

"Sleeping, are we?" he growled out. Albert was honestly surprised he could speak at this point. He cried out as he was dragged up by his hair. "Well, it seems you've got your rest for tonight. Let's just stay up all night now, yeah?"

Albert whimpered as his father dragged him down the stairs. "Edith, go to bed. Albie and I are going to stay up all night."

She looked horrified. "Frank..."

"Shut up, Edith, and go upstairs!" he shouted. "Go to bed! I'll handle this little brat!"

He sat Albert down at the kitchen table and prepared a cup of coffee for himself. "Don't you _dare_ fall asleep, boy," he hissed, sitting down across from him. "Or it'll be a lashing for you."

Albert swallowed back a sob, determined to stay awake.

Every time he'd close his eyes for too long, he'd get a kick in the shins. He started each time, tears springing to his eyes. He nodded once, and was rewarded with a slap to the face.

Six hours was spent like this, and finally, dawn came. His father dismissed him to get ready for school. "And you'll be walking today, boy," he growled, heading to bed himself.

Albert sniffled, rubbing his eyes and going to his room to put his clothes on. He was so tired.

His mother helped him dress, eyes filled with tears of pity. He held his weak little arms up as she pulled the dark blue shirt over his head, and then put his gray jacket on him. "I'm so sorry, Albert," she whispered, touching his cheek. His eyes slid closed, and she shook him gently. "Don't fall asleep, darling. Try to stay awake in school."

"Why don't we leave Father?" he asked softly, leaning against her. "If we left him, he wouldn't hurt us."

"Darling, we can't leave," she whispered. "He's just trying to help you... he just doesn't know how."

Not really understanding, Albert nodded and finished dressing himself as Edith combed his hair. "I hate him," he whispered, rubbing his tired little eyes.

She only sighed, parting his hair to the left and combing it back. Edith tried to smile, but it was marred by the bruise on her cheek. "There's my handsome little gentleman," she whispered, stroking his cheek gently. "Maybe tonight you'll get a decent sleep. Just do what you're told, dear heart."

He nodded, hugging his mother and grabbing his books. "Goodbye, Mother," he said, going down the stairs and out the front door.

Albert nearly collapsed from exhaustion once he finally arrived at school, pale and sweaty. His bright emerald eyes were dulled slightly, surrounded by dark circles. He looked ill. The teachers could tell, but there was nothing they could do to help him. They had too many other children to deal with.

After a while, it was all he could do to hold his head up. It was in Miss Shrine's class.

Miss Shrine was a short, squat woman with a wide, red-lipsticked mouth and a nose that turned up. The other boys had nicknamed her Madame Pig. She was probably the vilest, most foul-tempered woman on the face of the earth.

And Albert fell asleep in the middle of a lecture on proper punctuation.

It wasn't long before she walked over to his desk and swatted the back of his neck with a meterstick, causing to sit up straight with a cry of pain.

"That's your first, boy," growled the miserably evil old woman. "Your second will come when you stand up to walk with me to the headmaster so I can call your father."

Albert's eyes widened in fear. "No! Please, don't—"

"Sleeping in class? Hmph!" She dragged him up by the ear (which was beginning to feel like it was going to detach from his head) and swatted his backside, which made him cry out again and leap into the air, causing his ear to be pulled again. Tears sprang to his eyes as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "Please, Miss Shrine, I didn't mean to... I didn't sleep at all last night! It was an accident! Please don't call my father!"

She hmphed again, leading him to the office.

In an act of desperation, Albert's fingers squeezed her wrist, trying to get her to let go of his ear. Both hands on it now, he wrenched her hand back and heard something snap at the same moment she gave a horrible, blood-curdling cry.

Miss Shrine gripped her broken wrist, crying out again. "You broke my hand, you filthy little boy! I'll kill you!" she screeched. "I'll kill you! I don't care what you are!"

She threw herself at him, and Albert grabbed the only weapon he could find to protect himself: a neatly-sharpened pencil. As her hands, bent and gnarled, fingernails sharp as claws, reached for his throat, beady black eyes aflame, they both let out a battle yell as the pencil went flying, clutched by trembling white fingers, toward her short, fat neck.

_A/N: Two reviews and I'll post the next chapter :3_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Albert sat in the headmaster's office, pale white and trembling, hands and face covered in blood. When Mr. Hamilton walked into the room, his face was grave.

"Miss Shrine was taken to the hospital, but they doubt she'll make it. She's already lost so much blood." The man touched Albert's shoulder. "Tell me what happened."

He flinched away from Mr. Hamilton's touch, fear marking every feature of his face. "Am I going to go to prison?" he whispered.

"I don't think so, Albert," he said. "Did she attack you?"

He looked down at his hands. So much blood. "I didn't sleep last night and I had to walk to school today. I was tired, and I fell asleep in class. She hit me with a meterstick twice and tried to rip my ear off..." He was trembling with rage now. "I tried to get her off me, and I broke her wrist. She went at me then, trying to choke me, so I grabbed the only thing I could to defend myself." The boy looked up into the eyes of the headmaster. "She would have killed me, but I got her first."

Mr. Hamilton sighed. "How old are you, Albert?" he asked softly, looking at the boy.

"Seven," he said. "Nearly eight."

"And you snapped a grown woman's wrist with your bare hands?" The headmaster leaned forward, perplexed and obviously confused as to how a boy of seven years could wield such power.

He looked down at his hands, which had stopped trembling. He was only a child.

_"I don't care what you are..." _Clearly, that was what Miss Shrine meant.

Wasn't it?

His parents walked into the office, his father clenching his jaw and clearly refraining from killing the boy there and then. "Albert, come on. We're going home."

"Yes, sir," he whispered, standing and walking to his mother's side, as far away from Frank Wesker as he could get.

It was no good. Once they were out of the building Frank roughly yanked the boy by the arm to his side, then backhanded his face. Albert saw stars before he realized he'd fallen onto the ground, hand automatically reaching up to touch the place. His ears were ringing, the one that had gotten hit throbbing. He could actually hear his blood coursing through his veins.

And then he was on his feet again, his father slapping him twice more and holding him up.

"You _ignorant, foolish, selfish child!"_ Frank screamed. Edith just calmly stood off to the side, not looking at them. She herself had a livid bruise around her eye and on her cheek.

Feeling a surge of anger at his father for touching the beautiful woman, Albert yelled and shoved him back. "Don't touch me!" he shouted.

The fury on his father's face was immeasurable. "Don't you _ever_ speak to me in such a manner, Albert," he said softly, which was even more frightening than if he'd been yelling. Albert instantly shrank back, shaking with terror.

"Oh, that's right, boy," he said softly, taking a step forward. "You should be afraid. You should be bloody _terrified,_ you ungrateful _child_." Frank spat the word like a curse, grabbing his arm. "Get in the car. I'll deal with you when we get home."

Albert knew he would, and that it would likely be the most painful experience yet.

The next morning, which was a Saturday, Albert woke and tried to sit up in bed, wincing in pain. His entire body ached, covered in bruises, scrapes, and cuts from head to toe. His lip was split deeply and swollen to three times its normal size, a dark bruise was forming around his eye, and his arm felt like a crucial bone was on the verge of breaking in two. Albert only vaguely remembered what had happened, and he wished he didn't; his father had taken him home and outside, proceeding to take off his belt and repeatedly hit him with the end with the large metal buckle.

He'd then been dragged back inside and put into bed, teetering on the verge of unconsciousness before finally falling into a deep, troubled sleep.

Awake now, he examined the bruises all over his body, noting that they were mostly concentrated on his upper body. His hair was stuck to his head just above his ear, matted there with blood. Touching it, he could tell it wasn't serious, despite all the blood. He recalled a book that had said head injuries would bleed quite profusely. At any rate, the blood was dried now, and he desperately needed a bath and perhaps a few bandages.

As he turned the water on and took his clothes off, body screaming in pain as he moved, the seven-year-old made a promise to himself that no one would take care of him. From this day forward, he would take care of himself and be a man, a man strong enough to put his father in his place.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit that his entire reason for making this vow would be that he wanted his father to suffer tenfold for the injuries and bruises not only on Albert's small, fragile body, but also on Edith's. Frank Wesker would pay dearly for harming her, he vowed, grinding his teeth as he settled into the bath.

Dearly.

_Six Months Later_

Albert had commissioned the help of his physical education teacher in turning his fragile body into that of a stronger boy's. The coach had raised a brow, but agreed to help Albert transform into something else entirely.

His eighth birthday was nearing, and Albert was already far stronger than other boys his age. Coach Miller had been quite startled at this miracle, explaining to Albert that he had possibly the best metabolism he'd ever seen.

"I've never seen anything like it," the coach said one day as Albert did pushups. "If the other boys could do what you can..."

Albert only counted silently in his mind as he worked himself to a closing point. _Ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three..._ Once he reached a hundred, he stood, wiping sweat from his brow. "Finished, sir," he said, shaking sweat from his soaked hair.

The coach smiled a bit, shaking his head. "Go take a shower, Wesker," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow after school. We'll be running as many laps as we can."

Albert smiled, nodding, and went to the shower room. His muscles burned, but he felt the last six months had been worth it. One day, he would be strong enough to do what no other man could. He could be Prime Minister, maybe, or even rule the world! He knew that was a silly thought, but he also knew that there was something special about him, something unusual that no other boy had.

His thoughts washed away with the sweat from his body, and he smiled as the hot water relaxed his muscles. One day, he would kill Frank, and he and Edith would be free from his torment.

_A/N: Violent Albert is violent. :D_


End file.
